


Malduros

by robotboy



Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Repression, it's literally just a blowjob on a smoke break, named after the hilarious Bepsi style in-universe cigarettes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:41:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28832112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robotboy/pseuds/robotboy
Summary: It took Javi a while to figure out what the hell Steve’s problem was.
Relationships: Steve Murphy/Javier Peña
Comments: 34
Kudos: 100





	Malduros

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ghost_teeth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghost_teeth/gifts).



> Based on the characters, not the real cops. Fuck real cops.

It took Javi a while to figure out what the hell Steve’s problem was. A frat boy, or at least the kind of boy who wished he’d been rich enough to be a frat boy. Someone who’d never known himself like he did at keggers and locker rooms, who’d never had to ask for what he needed. Who didn’t know how: there was more than one language Steve didn’t speak.

It wouldn’t just be a blowjob: he could get those from his wife, assuming she gave them. Christ, Javi probably ought to fuck her too, if he was being thorough. Maybe Steve would get off Javi’s metaphorical dick if she got on his literal one, a regular little daisy chain of pass-the-bullshit.

This was Javi’s MO, and he did it because it worked. The theory was easy to test: a thumb flicking over his bottom lip as he pretended his report was troubling him as much as Steve’s was clearly irritating him. He declared a cigarette break, stretching languidly, and Steve followed like he a pup on a leash. They’d done this a hundred times, now, the tethered pathways of partners. Steve liked to square his shoulders and take the lead, Javi steering him through Medellín as one might steer a battering ram. That apple-pie blonde glowed like a sun: Javi found he enjoyed the shade.

No eye contact as he leaned on the outside wall, flicking the lighter with practiced ease. Let Steve work for it, let him puzzle privately through what exactly it was he wanted. Javi pinched his cigarette from above, hips canted forward instead of away. He blew smoke, and Steve’s nostrils twitched. The cherry tip drew a twisting, intangible line between them: too fragile to be pulled, but present, slippery, threading its way into Steve’s lungs and settling into sense memory. He would think of Javi when he smelt Malduros.

He would think of Javi’s cock when Javi rubbed an idle-seeming palm across his thigh, where the denim strained. He’d think of it all day, for weeks, if Javi didn’t take pity on him soon.

‘We’re close,’ Steve muttered, rubbing his knuckles over his mouth. ‘I fucking _know it.’_

‘Yeah,’ Javi assured him. He took a long drag, cheeks hollowing, and watched how it pinched Steve’s shoulders together. Steve’s fist met the wall: not quite a punch, more like a prop. Javi tossed the butt on the ground between them and Steve, bolder than any former frat boy needed to be, toed it out. That put his leg between Javi’s: there was always plenty of space there, since a wider stance made Steve look taller, and Steve was easier to get on with when he was taller.

Still, there was this bug up his ass, and Javi knew the easiest way to get it out. He was certain, already, but Steve didn’t know Javi knew that. Javi kept his lips parted as his eyes shifted down: slow, obvious. Steve’s teeth clenched. His weight shifted. Speaking would break the spell, but staring lured Steve’s hips into Javi’s range.

Javi’s hand brushed over Steve’s crotch, with enough pressure that it wasn’t an accident. Steve’s dick jumped at the touch. There was a split-second, where Steve could jolt back and mutter _what the fuck?_ —it shot past and Steve missed it by a mile, his jaw working through something he probably thought was naïvely confused but was obviously, desperately aroused. Javi fixed his gaze on Steve’s throat: nowhere that might threaten anything so dangerous as a kiss, but a bite? Maybe, if Steve begged.

Javi palmed Steve’s cock through his pants, firm and uncompromising, and Steve breathed a little _‘fuck’_ that made his pulse kick under the skin. More pressure, and Steve’s shoulder hit the wall, crowding them so anyone who passed the alcove wouldn’t see. His hand opened and shut, almost gripping Javi’s shirt but stopping short, nails biting red crescents that turned white. Javi rubbed until Steve’s pants had to be hurting, a flex of his shoulder that wasn’t strictly necessary, except that Steve liked looking at his shoulders. That’s where Steve’s hand finally caught, groaning in the sweat-damp fabric and pulling, pleading.

This was the hardest part: Javi sinking to his knees like it was no big deal. Just something partners did for each other, to take the edge off when one got his panties in a twist. Javi was great with panties.

Steve had the good grace, or the desperation, to unbuckle his belt. Javi eased his fly down, leaning back an inch so Steve’s cock wouldn’t smack him in the face as he untucked it from some lovingly laundered Y-fronts.

There wasn’t any sense in teasing when his knees were on pavement, and sixty seconds of foreplay was generous enough. Javi curved his tongue into a shovel and licked up Steve’s shaft, firm and fast until Steve’s thighs shook.

Javi knew he was good at this: he’d had plenty of practice with CIs. He braced a hand around the root of Steve’s cock, not because the length would be a problem but to flatter him, to keep his thrusts in check. Because Steve was tense, shuddering at a swipe of Javi’s tongue over the head, so maybe his wife _didn’t_ do this often. Javi sighed through his nose, unclenching his jaw before taking Steve’s cock in his mouth. He let his hand do most of the work, pumping until Steve was rock hard. Sucked with pressure and made Steve gasp, a high-pitched and bitten-off sound that Javi hid a smile at. His tongue hooked around the head of Steve’s cock, probing at the slit with audacity that good American girls rarely showed.

 _‘Fuck,’_ Steve hissed, but he knew better than to pull Javi’s hair. His knuckles whitened on the denim as he shoved the waistband down to his thighs.

Javi was right: it wouldn’t just be a blowjob. Fortunately, Steve’s cock leaked generously with anticipation: if they were allowed to speak, Javi would tell Steve how fucking hot it was, that Steve got wet like a girl. Steve would either punch him in the face or come all over his face, and Javi wasn’t particularly interested in either of those outcomes.

Javi leaned to one side, stroking Steve’s cock with the same overarm gesture he’d used on the cigarette, until his fingers were smeared slick. Steve had to know—but then, Javi could fill several books with everything Steve didn’t know. Whatever it was he did or didn’t know, his thighs parted when Javi nudged them, and his hips bounced forward when Javi’s finger traced along the crack of his ass. Javi dragged his lips over Steve’s cock, generously messy, and showed off his lack of gag reflex when Steve rocked back so Javi’s fingertip found Steve’s rim.

He sank in to the first knuckle. Steve was tight, but he knew how to relax so that Javi could slip deeper: he’d done this before, if not recently. His breath was tense, belly fluttering, and his cock throbbed on Javi’s tongue.

It wouldn’t be long, now. They didn’t have long, anyway, and Javi didn’t need long. All he needed was to stroke Steve’s dick with his free hand, groan so Steve felt it buzzing, his tongue curling obscenely along the vein. He crooked the finger inside Steve, beckoning the orgasm out of him. Steve was trembling, gasping a lot louder than he likely thought he was, rutting on Javi’s finger. He thrust like he wanted Javi to deep-throat him again, and Javi relented only to prove he could. He rubbed along Steve’s prostate and Steve was leaking profusely on his tongue now. Javi sucked, bobbing his head to bring Steve to the edge. The heel of Steve’s palm bumped Javi’s shoulder, a frantic warning, and Javi’s nostrils flared as Steve came in his mouth. He didn’t pull off when Steve’s knees buckled. He steered Steve to crash back against the wall, hand propping under Steve’s ass, only letting Steve’s dick slip out of his mouth when he was good and ready. He slid his finger out a second later, twisting so Steve would miss every inch of it. Steve made a sharp noise at the cool evening air. At least they were getting overtime.

Javi’s jaw worked, and he hocked Steve’s come into the pavement with such precision that he didn’t need to ruin his sleeve wiping his mouth. Steve tucked himself away, hitching up his jeans with a bunny-hop.

Javi was barely on his feet again before lighting another cigarette, to chase the taste away. He held it out to Steve, who took it gratefully. Steve attempted a terse nod, but his gaze was caught on the filter, where Javi’s lips had been a moment earlier. He took a sucking drag. It billowed out unevenly.

Steve tried to be subtle, but those sun-bleached lashes hid nothing: he was glancing down, checking if Javi’s dick was hard. And Javi was: visibly but not painfully. Better to leave Steve thinking about it, let him remember how good Javi had felt inside him and how he might—no, better to leave that for now. Unlike some people, Javi could get pent-up without making it everyone’s problem.

Still, he would have fucked Steve, if Steve had ever found the balls to ask.

**Author's Note:**

> [My other Narcos fic.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27717703)


End file.
